Saturday, October 4, 2008

Presque Isle

About 11 years ago, about this same time of the year, a divorced man took a divorced woman and a carload of kids to Presque Isle. The kids scampered along the beach ahead looking for shells and beach glass, and the quiet man said to the woman that he wanted to be married. The woman was having no truck with that. She was lonely, and having a rough time of it, but the last thing that she needed was a husband. Good Lord! I'm afraid the divorced woman was rather empathetic about the fact that she was not going marry again. Not ever. Ever, ever, ever. (She felt that she really had to make it clear to this divorced man, who had, after all, asked this question before...let he who has ears hear, dammit.)
The divorced man got very quiet, and then reached down and picked up a stone and put it in his pocket. He cleared his throat, and said, "Well, God is telling me that I am to be your rock. If that's all I can ever be, that's how it will have to be."
He walked on without noticing that the woman had stopped dead in her tracks with her mouth open in shock. It had been a hard couple of years being on her own with the kids. The worst part was the loneliness of it. There was no one to talk to. The situation could not be discussed with her family. Her mother said things like, "You made your bed..." and her father had said, "You contaminate this family with your filth." She had been muddling along, and praying in the quiet of the night, "Please God. Just send me someone that I can talk to. Nothing more. I just need a rock."
Even with the miracle right in front of her face, the woman was still lacking in the faith department. It took a few more months to say yes.
Today we went back to Presque Isle. It was windy, windy, windy. The cold wind felt refreshing on my hot face. It just seemed so big. And embarassingly, I found myself crying at the bigness of it. And 11 years later, my husband reached out to hold my hand.


Bush Babe (of Granite Glen) said...

Good. He's a good, good man. And patient. And he loves you. The best medicine of all, really.

This illustrates too, how you cannot choose your blood family, but you CAN choose the family of people who share your life. Excellent choice!

Anonymous said...

Ahhhhh, I am crying. There is so much depth in your writing, Debby. It seems adversity gives your gift a chance to gather strength.

PS - I said 'no' too. Several times. He's never asked again. You have a good one there.

Lavinia said...

That is so sweet! You chose a good place to go to today. I hope you two will make many, many more trips to this special isle....for many years and years to know what I mean Debby!?!

Lavinia said...

Not to denigrate yours or anyone's family members, but I have to say, your father and mother were wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.....okay add a few dozen more 'wrongs' and I will have said my piece.

Portia said...

Thank goodness for persistent men. God called him to be your rock and he was willing to wait until you were ready to have a rock. What a blessing!

steviewren said...

I love "God" know the kind where you know God was at work because it couldn't have happened any other way. In another eleven years you will be telling God stories about this event and this year.

Pencil Writer said...

Tears are leaking from my face. Like a rock. Tim rocks. (He, he!) Thank the Good Lord that he did and does and will some more. The joy of having a rock to stand firmly upon. :-}

Mary Paddock said...

There's nothing like the love and support of a man who "gets" you. Especially when you need someone the most.

Mikey said...

What a wonderful story. You are so blessed to have him. He surely has been your rock, and so much more.
You hang in there girl. We're surrounding you with love and prayers.

jeanie said...

There is a lot to be said about subsequent spouses - they learn, they know and they take on more than the dream, don't they?

I am so glad you were sent your rock in Tim - and I have no crystal ball, but I am willing to bet his shoulders are far sturdier.

And as I once said to V in a similar conversation, if he ends up a bastard, darl, I will wail the Alanis Morisette tunes out loud with you while tipping up a few bottles - but I think our cellars (and laments) are fairly safe.

Debby said...

Not to mention our ears!

Paloma said...

For a few days this blog has been buzzing around my brain. I can relate to the loneliness you describe, and I can relate to being shunned family as an evil "infection." However, your sweet description of the beach scene, of your strong and deeply spiritual man, and your personal transition gives me hope.

And thanks for the pictures! It was nice to see the beach that means so much to you.